


Tenderness

by destieldamnit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:10:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1370044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destieldamnit/pseuds/destieldamnit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This work has season 9 spoilers.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Tenderness

**Author's Note:**

> This work has season 9 spoilers.

Dean gingerly lowered his body into the steaming bath. The small bottle of bath oil he kept tucked in the back of his nightstand had moments before been emptied into the swirling, hot water. He’d felt a tug of sadness at seeing the last few drops fall and cursed himself for wanting to use what was left. His skin prickled and shuddered when it first hit the stinging water, but his body had adjusted quickly and the warmth enveloped him whole.

His hands traced over the bruises on his thighs, the tender bluish haze forming over his ribs, and the cut in his bicep. He sighed and tried to push away the pain of the fight. There was nothing supernatural about this tussle— just a Saturday night bar brawl Dean purposefully, foolishly instigated.

Everyone in the bar had something to prove and nothing to lose and Dean wasn’t there by coincidence. His brother had disowned him, Kevin died because of him, and everyone else was dead or gone too.

A leather and denim clad brute with an untrimmed beard and alarmingly large gut had accidentally bumped into Dean and it was all the spark Dean needed to go off. He wanted to be punished, and he got what he’d been looking for from the surly biker and three of his closest friends.

Dean is all too aware that what he craves and submits himself to is utter self-destruction. He knows. He knows deep down in a place not even the water can wash clean. It’s a spiral downward he’s never been able to fling himself off, now a comforting orbit of chaotic pain.

The tether of his thoughts is snapped by a soft knock at the door.

”What?” his tone had more bite to it than he’d intended, as if the whiskey he’d all but chugged at the greasy bar was still speaking for him.

"Dean… Dean, it’s me. Are you okay?" 

It was Cas. Of course it was Cas. Dean was filled with a spite more bitter than he could comprehend in his hung over, aching haze. Even his voice, his way of speaking was different now. Cas understood how to talk with concern and passion or softly and casually. The gentle phrasing stung at Dean. Where the hell had Castiel gone? Cas had changed on him and it made him angry. It made him angry because it scared the hell out of him. It made Dean angry because Cas had somehow figured out being human in a few short weeks (weeks he spent away from Dean) and now Cas was even more vulnerable to the poison Dean would certainly flood him with…

"Dean?" his tone even more human now, pleading with him.

Dean’s thoughts were racing now, his heart pounding so loud he was certain Cas could hear it with his renewed angel ears.

"I’m fine." is what Dean meant to say. Instead, he choked on the words and a sob rose out of him like water molecules still leaping up from his tub. In a matter of seconds, Dean had finally broken. His hands were still clutching at thin air as he tried to hold up what was crashing down.

Another strangled sob. 

That was all Cas could take on the other side of the bathroom door. In his urgency, rather than simply opening the door, he accidentally _whooshed_ into the middle of the small, steamy room.

Cas expected to be shouted out of the bathroom, as this wasn’t necessarily the first time he’d forgotten human conventions. Instead, Dean laid nearly motionless in the tub with his body facing away from Cas. The only movement was the soft shuddering of his shoulders and the small ripples they created in the water. Cas hesitated, certain of what he wanted to do but scared wingless of actually doing it.

After a few agonizingly long seconds, Cas took off his clothes as quietly as possible. He was terrified even the slightest sound would crack Dean and he’d fall apart in the water like a charred branch in a fire. Cas stood, hands shaking, for a few more moments before gently stepping into the water, grimacing at both the blistering temperature and the growing bruise spreading around Dean’s rib cage onto his back.

To both Dean and Castiel’s surprise, Dean said nothing. The only sounds were his labored breathing and the drops of tears hitting the water. Dean shifted his body closer to the wall of the tub, making room for Cas. Out of some lingering habit, he prayed Cas would come lay behind him because he was too crippled by his turmoil to tell him so. He tried to cancel the thought as it was happening, realizing too late that Cas could hear his prayers again. His embarrassment was quickly replaced by relief as Cas, who until now had been standing awkwardly with just his legs in the water, kneeled and slipped his body down to lay behind dean.

Cas wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and chest, and Dean grabbed them tightly, unable to hide his vulnerability and need any longer. This wasn’t about sex or distraction. In ways he didn’t even comprehend yet, his soul was breaking loose. All his guts and innards were being ripped open and laid bare in that very moment. He couldn’t for one moment more live dishonestly. It was here, in the arms of his angel, he had to be and _wanted_ to be to come undone.

His face pressed into Cas’ neck, Dean cried for what felt like hours. He knew it must have been a long time, as the water had cooled around their bodies. Cas never said a word. He held Dean, stroking his arm or running his fingers down his back and up into his hair, full of a patience and tenderness dean couldn’t ever remember experiencing. Any thoughts about his “manhood” floated away, leaving only himself to bask in the warmth of true intimacy.

When Cas sensed Dean was feeling more at ease, he sat up and emptied and refilled the bath. With boundless focus and care, he washed Dean’s hair and cleansed his skin in the fresh, warm water. Dean fought the urge to protest that still lingered in him, preferring to study the smallest details of Castiel’s face as he bathed him. Dean felt a swell of something like bittersweet heartache in his chest because this face was wholly Castiel’s, not just a vessel; his humanity clearly unfaded by the return of his grace.

As Cas led Dean to his bed and tucked him in, Dean felt more pure than he could simply attribute to a couple hours in a bath. Dean knew he had many more demons to fight, but as Cas crawled in bed and slid his body against dean’s for the second time that night, he felt his battle could be won.


End file.
